All the Roads That Lead From Home by Anne Leigh Parrish Page B

school, pretend to be her, and say you want me to go there. Say
we’ve become real good friends, and that you don’t want to split us up.”
    “Why can’t
you?”
    “Because I
don’t talk fancy enough.”
    I’d have
said no except that the flame in her eye had gone all wobbly when she asked me.
    The next
morning, with Mary beside me, I took a deep breath and picked up the phone.
    “Yes, I
realize time is running short, but surely you still have room? She’s had the
most difficult time, poor thing. I’d hate to do anything that would impede the
fine progress she’s making,” I said. The secretary agreed to mail the required
paperwork, and said I’d have to provide a copy of Mary’s birth certificate when
I sent it back.
    “We have a
problem,” I said, when I got off the phone.
    “Yeah,
what?”
    “They want
a copy of your birth certificate.”
    “I got
it.”
    “You do?”
    “Hey, once
I learned I was getting sprung outta there, I took everything I might ever
need. Even my book of what you call it, from the doctor, vaccinations.”
    She
grinned. Her hair was clean, with no dandruff at all. And she’d stopped wearing
that awful makeup. I was glad to see her look more like herself, like a girl
who’d do fine at my sort of snotty school. We made a plan to get her some new
clothes downtown with a credit card my mother never used. If that worked, maybe
we could get her a decent haircut, too.
    Four days
later Harv appeared at the front door in a T-shirt, Bermuda shorts, and
sandals. His toenails were thick and yellow. Mary saw them, too. She caught my
eye as he made his way across the living room to my mother’s shriek and
outstretched arms.
    “What in
the world are you doing here?” she asked.
    “Seeing
you.”
    “But—”
    “Can’t
paint worth a damn, babe. And that’s the truth.”
    They set
up in the back yard with a pitcher of martinis my mother made and spent the
rest of the afternoon getting smashed. Mary and I ordered a pizza and ate it
her room with a dusty fan I’d found in the basement. Then we watched an old
movie on TV about some nutty woman who finds religion and blows off her family
so she can do good works for everybody else.
    The next
day was Sunday. After the martinis my mother and Harv had gone out somewhere
and come home late. His van was still in the driveway.
    Mary was
outside, looking up. The sky was silver and the air still.
    “Looks
like we had company last night,” she said, when I joined her.
    “Yeah.”
    “They make
noise?”
    “Not that
I heard.”
    “Lucky you.
Nothing worse than hearing people fuck. You wouldn’t believe the racket in my
mom’s room, once Romeo moved in.”
    We heard
someone slamming the kitchen cabinets, and went in to see. It was Harv, still
in his shorts, and an old T-shirt of my father’s that had bright blue paint
stains on the front.
    He looked
at us with bloodshot eyes. “Hey, there. Either of you girls know how to make
coffee?”
    “Just
instant,” said Mary. That was a lie. She made my mother freshly ground coffee
every morning. She put the kettle on to boil without looking at Harv. She
brought down an ancient jar of instant coffee, set it on the counter by Harv’s
car keys and said, “Spoons are in there, sugar’s over there, three scoops and
you’re good to go.”
    I followed
her into her room. She opened the window with a single, sharp push.
    “What’s
wrong with you?” I asked.
    “Him. He
got no business coming around.”
    “Maybe
not, but he’s here.”
    She sat on
her bed, and studied the braided rug. “Nothing pisses you off, does it?” she
said.
    “What the
hell’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Your
folks split up. Your dad hangs out with some young chick, your mom turns into a
three-year-old, then this clown shows up and acts like he owns the damn place.”
Her face was full of color. She went on staring at the rug. Thunder boomed in
the distance, and a slow breeze came in through the window screen. In